


i don't like what i'm becoming

by punchtiger



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Choking, Dissociation, Gore, Head Injury, Regeneration, he's not exactly used to his powers, really shit healing anyways, reaper's first mission for talon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 21:06:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8342698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punchtiger/pseuds/punchtiger
Summary: Cornered and wounded, the reaper screamed, honest to God, it screamed. Do you know what that means? You run.





	

**Author's Note:**

> first fic on archive and first fic i've written after a few years! hope y'all enjoy, its a short one, and i'm pretty rusty at writing. i wanted to explore the topic, though. we don’t talk about reaper not being used to his powers yet enough. lot of pain and angst potential there :)

He's choking.

Bullets fly by and pierce into everything; the walls, the ceiling, the floor, missing by feet, by inches, by centimeters as he coughed and spat out plumes of thick, dark smoke.

He didn't inhale. Never once did he breathe in. An endless stream of death and decay spewed past his lips, alarming enough that even the bullets ceased and guns rustled as they were cautiously lowered against thighs and on standby. His frame, already on the floor, spasmed and shuddered, trembling hands grasping at his neck and clawing at his mask as his body screamed _this is wrong, breathe in, breathe in_ amongst the hacking coughs and smoke in his eyes. Quiet, careful footsteps followed, nervous and nearly silent but loud enough for him for every step to make him more nauseous, until he felt all guns staring at him. He uttered a low gurgle and another wheezing cough, and tried to roll on his side, away from all the eyes and shaky fingers on triggers, but only another convulsion seized him and the blood felt warm trickling out the side of his head and thick in his mouth. 

Was he dying? 

The shaking fit gradually slowed and he went still, quiet, the dark decay burning from his mouth thinning into the air. One by one, the guns stopped staring, and a few men suddenly found their bravery and stepped closer. Rolled him over. Jabbed him with the butts of their guns after seeing the side of his head, mangled in a mess of bone and blood and brain. Laughed over his stupidity; _only one guy, they only sent one bastard, so Talon really was this dumb all along?_

And then the reaper was screaming, a dissociated mess of smoke and muscle and bones, spasming painfully as it put itself back together against its will. Laughter was cut short, men staggered back and drew their guns. The eyes were back, and through the messy regeneration and blood trickling back up its face, the reaper saw each and every one of those eyes. Its knee hit the floor and it began to rise, rigor mortis that was eternally setting in making each joint popping and cracking, a sickening series of sounds. Hands shook but fingers were frozen in place, not one man moving or one pulling the trigger. The reaper cracked its neck and flexed its clawed hands, feeling the grip of a shotgun form in each palm.

Everything after felt so familiar.

Loud cracking sounds rung in its ears whenever a shot fired, not from its guns but from the recoil breaking its arms. Again and again. Every time, its arms were put back together less and less and pain oozed from the splintered bones. Disposing of the targets was still painfully, agonizingly _easy_ , especially when they were frozen in fear. The reaper was on autopilot, barely having to manage a thought as it was being put back together and its instinct to kill moved its forever dying body. 

In a room somewhere, looming shadows full of clipboards and syringes officially pronounced Gabriel Reyes as deceased and Reaper's first mission as a success.  



End file.
